A Place Where You Belong
by 666-HyuugaNeji-999
Summary: Songfic - 'A Place Where You Belong' by BFMV. Dean learns the hard way about strength in numbers after Sam is attacked in a motel room. Set after the episode titled 'The Rapture'. Oneshot, NOT Wincest, rated T for violence and possible language.


**Hello, me again :) I found this in one of my old folders and thought I'd put it up.**

**This is what happens when I'm bored and listening to music after watching Supernatural :P**

**The song is****_ 'A Place Where You Belong' _****by Bullet For My Valentine, from the album 'Fever'.**

**Set somewhere after the episode titled 'The Rapture' but I'm not exactly sure when.**

**Enjoy! **

* * *

_**A Place Where You Belong**_

* * *

_Your body's cold_

_Hope is lost, I can't let go_

_Can I die with you so we can never grow old?_

* * *

Blood dripped from the mirror; the pale minimalist décor cast the dark abstract streaks on the floor and walls into sharp relief. The lights flickered, then died, leaving only the orange streetlights outside the window to illuminate the room, throwing monstrous shadows into every corner.

The young man lay spread-eagled on the linoleum, his hands clutching uselessly at the place where his life was draining out into a dark pool around his body. His green eyes moved up to gaze unseeingly at the ceiling and his hand fell from his chest to lie limp beside his pale, blood-streaked face as his heart-beat faltered, then stilled.

A deafening silence followed, until it was shattered by a loud knocking on the motel-room door.

"Sam? You in there? Dammit, Sam, open up!" Dean's voice rang out as he hammered on the door again, the sounds mixing as they echoed around the empty room. He muttered something, then kicked the door; it slammed open, nearly flying off its hinges.

It took him a split second to realise why Sam hadn't answered the door. For several seconds, he froze in shock, his wide eyes reflecting the bloody scene as he stared in horror. Then, he spotted the figure lying in the bathroom doorway, and crossed the room in three strides.

"Sam!" he shouted, kneeling beside his brother and quickly pressing two fingers to the pulse-point at his neck. _Come on, come on… Please, Sam…_

Nothing.

"Dammit!" Dean moved Sam's limp hand from where it was resting on his chest (he felt a surge of terror at how cold Sam was) and proceeded with CPR, every compression and every forced breath sounding like a chant in Dean's head. _Too late, too late, too late._

Dean stopped, lifting his blood-soaked hands from Sam and bowing his head, his eyes squeezed shut. _No, please, God no… Anything but that. I'll die in his place, I'll even go back to Hell, if that's what it takes to bring my brother back! _

No-one answered, but he hadn't really expected them to. He opened his eyes and found himself looking at Sam's own eyes; once a warm, beautiful green, they were now cold and blank. He almost smiled, remembering the numbers of times he'd seen Sam do the 'puppy-dog-eyes' in order to get his own way.

He'd never see that again. Not now.

Silent tears streaked down his face as he carefully slid Sam's eyes shut, then rested his hand on his brother's cheek. He sat like that for a few moments, then gripped Sam's shoulders and lifted his upper-body off the floor, pulling him into an embrace. "Sam…" he whispered. "Sammy, I'm so sorry… I'm sorry…" He choked, unable to say anything more as anguish flooded through him; his body shook as sob after sob forced its way from deep inside. His mouth opened again, but instead of words, a wild, animalistic howl escaped him, as if his pain and anger had somehow been translated into sound.

* * *

_I wish I'd died on that night right by your side_

_So just kill me now and let the good times roll_

* * *

After what felt like millennia, he opened his eyes. Sam lay limp in his arms, his face the colour of chalk and a trickle of blood running from his mouth, so dark against his skin it looked black. Dean tore his eyes away from Sam, looking around the room. Every dark smear stood out as his eyes roved, finally fixing on something which shouldn't have been there in the first place.

The knife was lying in the corner, its blade bloody up to the hilt; as Dean spotted it, he was possessed with a sudden and powerful desire to take up the blade and… What? Slash his wrists? He wasn't sure. But at the same time, he knew he couldn't.

_What would Sam want?_

Sam sure as hell wouldn't want him to kill himself; no, he'd say 'Go down fighting'.

Fighting what? He didn't even know what had done this, which of the sons-of-bitches they'd been hunting had ripped his family apart for the last time. All he knew now was that he couldn't do this alone.

"CASTIEL!"

The door opened. "Dean, wh-"

The angel stopped, his eyes wide, as he took in the scene. Then, he came straight over to where Dean still cradled Sam in his arms.

"Cass…" Dean whispered, tears coming to his eyes again. "Can you…?"

Castiel crouched beside them, ignoring the fact that his coat was getting soaked. He reached out a hand and lightly rested it on Sam's forehead for a few seconds, then withdrew, his expression "I…cannot. I am sorry," he said softly; despite his efforts, his voice betrayed the emotional blow he felt to see Sam dead.

"What? What do you mean, you _can't_?" Dean looked up at him, fury in his eyes. "Why the hell not?"

"I am not powerful enough, Dean. It is impossible." Castiel lowered his gaze to Sam's face, his expression tormented. "I wish I could bring Samuel back, Dean, believe me. In all the time I have been with you, I have developed a strong…connection, with both of you. It hurts a great deal to see this, to be unable to change it."

Dean heard the sincere truth in his voice and instead said, "So can you help at all?"

"Not the way you want me to. But I can, and I will, help you find the one who did this." Castiel looked up and met Dean's gaze with a look filled with determination.

The hunter held the angel's gaze for several seconds, then tore himself away and stared down at his dead brother's face. If it weren't for the blood, and the pallor, he might have been sleeping. Dean hugged his body closer and whispered, "_See you on the other side, Sammy_," before finally lowering him back onto the floor and letting him go. The emptiness in his arms made him want to howl, to scream his anger and hatred for himself and those who had taken everything from him, but he managed to hold himself in check as Castiel placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I am truly sorry, Dean," the angel said softly. There didn't seem to be anything else to say.

* * *

_Will you wait for me?_

_Will I see you on the other side?_

* * *

Dean nodded slowly, his face almost as pale as his brother's, but Castiel knew he wasn't really hearing him. He thought quickly, unsure as to what he should do next; he was very aware of how volatile Dean could be, and this situation was far from normal, even for them. He looked around, hoping for some inspiration, and his gaze settled on a small black plastic object lying discarded on the floor. _A...cell phone? Dean must have dropped it…_ Suddenly, he knew what to do.

"Dean." He allowed a little of his true voice into his tone as he spoke, to get Dean's attention. The hunter was still kneeling in the pool of blood, his fists clenched and his eyes shut. At the sound of the angel's voice, he opened his eyes, but even as he looked up, Castiel could see the emptiness behind them. It was unnerving how Dean's eyes, so like his brother's in life, had become so like his in death. Castiel shook off that unwelcome thought and said, "Dean, you must call someone. Who can you trust?"

Dean seemed to think for a moment, then reached out for the phone. The movement was mechanical, but it seemed to be a good sign; a sign of life, if nothing else. He dialled and held the phone to his ear, still kneeling, his expression unchanged. The phone rang for about two minutes, then went to voicemail.

"He's not picking up," he said abruptly, hanging up the phone. Then, he suddenly flicked his wrist round and flung the phone at the wall, shattering it. His fist still clenched, he swung his arm round and slammed it into the tiled wall, cracking several tiles and causing his knuckles to bleed; he didn't even notice the blood trickling between his fingers.

Castiel watched him, shocked, as Dean punched his fist into the tiles twice, then three times, leaving a dark smear of his own blood to match the swirls and streaks of Sam's blood which already decorated the walls and floor. _What do I do?_ he thought desperately. _I must calm him down, before he hurts himself too badly. _

_But how? _

The violence almost frightened him; despite all of his experience in battle, he'd never seen a man so filled with anger and self-hatred.

Dean could feel the pain as his fist connected with the hard, unforgiving tiles, but he didn't care. He needed to take all this anger out on something, someone, anything! At that moment, he wouldn't have thought twice about taking Alistair's offer; he wanted to hurt someone, to make them feel the pain he did.

_And Sam thought _he_'d had anger issues. _

He almost wanted to laugh at the irony, but somehow he knew that if he did, it wouldn't be a laugh. It would be a maniacal mockery of his old laughter, twisted and broken: exactly how Dean felt inside. _How appropriate._

But finally, his anger was spent; he stopped in mid-punch, dropping his fist to his lap and bowing his head. The skin across the back of his knuckles had split in several places and blood was dripping off the ends of his fingers, but he ignored the physical pain; all he felt was the pain and despair within himself. _I never even said goodbye to him… He died thinking that I didn't trust him, didn't care enough about him to take him back. _

_That I didn't love him. _

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "Cass… I'm sorry you…had to see that."

The angel frowned. "You have nothing to apologise for, Dean." He leaned in and replaced the hand on Dean's shoulder. Normally Dean would have made some comment about personal space by now, but the closeness almost gave him comfort, if such a thing could be had in this situation. Castiel knew all too well the pain that losing a brother could cause, but in this case, Dean had not only lost a brother. He had lost his entire family to demons; he had lost his only companion, his best friend.

This time, he had truly lost everything.

_Goodbye, Sam. I hope you find the peace you never had here. _Dean took one final look down at Sam, willing his spirit to hear his words, before tearing his gaze from Sam for the last time and turning away, fresh tears rolling down his cheeks.

* * *

_Too late, too late_

_I never said goodbye_

_Too late, too late_

_Can't even ask you why_

_And now I'm wasting away in my own misery_

_I hope you've finally gone to a place where you belong._

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed reading that :) A bit dark, I know, but if you've read any of my other stories you'll know that's sort of my thing *evil grin***

**Anyway, please leave a review, or if nothing else go to and listen to the song - it's on youtube or spotify or whatever, and if you have the time listen to the whole album (it's great!)**

**Oh, and I know the whole angelic-sigils-on-the-ribs thing would mean that Cass can't hear Dean if he just shouts for him, but I thought he might be waiting outside or something, to give the boys some time? **

**Thanks for reading! :D**


End file.
